Who Made Me Crêpes
by annakatewrites
Summary: So, this girl named Nicole (who used to be a spy) sings at a bar one night and catches the attention of who she knows to be Francis. It's only the next day that she's called upon by America to return to international espionage; the CIA's intentions are unclear. She gets to meet the other countries under the guise of United Nations delegates, so that's cool.
1. This Charming Man (1)

It was uncharacteristically cool that evening in Manhattan, at least for August. I wore with me on stage a brown boa scarf to hide from the air conditioning.

I thought of this morning: "No one goes out on Tuesdays." Henry eyed me as he combed through the _National Enquirer_.

"I would _._ "

"I do not believe you would." He gave me a sneer.

I held under my shoulder the body of my guitar, humming some tune into the microphone like it was the ear of a lover. I wore sunglasses, blocking out all but the sound of my voice.

" _Woo!"_ A single shout came from a corner of the room _._ I took an intermission.

"Nicole!" I left the stool unattended, prepared to approach the owner.

"You were great!"

"Thanks, John," I grinned at him.

"I'm thinking about closing early tonight, so I'm going to let you go. Why don't you sit and have a drink?"  
"Really? Thanks." I told him. "I do have to leave at eleven, anyway."

"Awesome. I'll see you on Friday?"

"Of course." He stopped himself for a moment.

"Can I ask where you're going?"

"Just another party. You know how Manhattan likes to party."

"On the rooftop?"

"Exactly." I approached the bar to take up John's offer.

"What will it be?"

"Scotch, neat."

"Gotcha."

The glass sweat in my palms, and I shivered in my dress that offered the warmth of a blade of grass. I took off my glasses, the first time in a few hours, and let my eyes adjust to the lighting. I felt a firm hand come from behind me and grasp my shoulder.

"Bonjour ma cherie" A man with a thick French accent whispered in my ear. It was strangely sensual, smelling of a vapory wine, but it spooked me.

"Are you are ze singer?" I turned sharply behind me to meet the voice. I fell silent. "I love a woman with a beautiful voice." I blushed.

"Thank you. I am." I spoke clearly, stark with his slurred speech. He was obviously intoxicated. He grabbed my hand to give me a wet kiss, and took a pen from the bar.

"My number." He scribbled something on my hand and grabbed from himself nowhere in particular a rose, want of its thorns. He grabbed my face to kiss me on the cheek. "Call me." He held my hand in a soft grasp and stumbled away. "I must go" he called. I sat in my chair, abashedly charmed and overtaken. The bartender gave me a look and turned towards me.

"Nice." I took a breath. The bartender approached me. "Did you know that guy?"

"No, I've never seen him in my life."

"Weird."

"I never caught your name."

"It's Paul." He nodded, smiling with his mouth open.

"Hey Paul. Nicole."

"It's okay, I know; I saw the posters."

"Oh, shit." I fumbled with my glass and put it up to him. "Did he slip me anything?"

"No, I didn't see nothing." Paul leaned forward.

"How much do I owe you?"

"On the house." I smiled.

"Thanks." I went to get my things, snapping my guitar into the hard case.

"Is that your friend?" I looked up. Paul escaped from his cage, standing on the floor and pointing to the entrance.

"What are you talking about?" Paul laughed and clutched his stomach.

"I think that guy just passed out on the ground"

"Uh oh." Paul stopped laughing and looked at me like I was supposed to do something.

"Did you watch the news last night? Apparently they're taking kidneys."

"Who, the mob?"

"I don't think they're so much in action anymore." He said. "Maybe"

"Should we help him?"

"You know what, I bet his is already gone. You can help him." I looked at the window where the basement met the sidewalk, and saw his face smashed up against the window. It couldn't be safe.

"Can you help me?" Paul shook his head.

"You're on your own." I sighed. I walked slowly to the front, sickened by my own morals.

"Sir?" I was met with a soft breeze of cool air. I tapped his foot with mine, and set my guitar down on the concrete to help him up. He was barely conscious.

"Ah, mon-amor…" he lifted his head up, only to let it fall again.

"Where do you live?" There was no answer. "Hey! Wake up!" I waved to a taxi parked by the curb. He waved to me. I opened the door to throw my guitar in, my purse, and then to drag him behind me.

The taxi was driven by an old man smoking a cigar.

"Drop me off in East village."

"Anywhere in particular?" The cabbie turned and I was hit with a wave of cigar smoke. I gave him my street address. "Alright-y, den."

I sat back in my seat. "I deed not know we were going home to-gezzer" he was going in and out of consciousness, and this time, his hand groped my left breast. He had a dumb look on his face; I was practically sitting on his thigh; the cab was so small. He quietly moaned in pleasure right behind me. It felt nice. By now, he could stumble on his own, but he still needed to be led up the stairs and held from behind to keep him from falling.

"I cannot wait to 'ave sex, now" the man leaned against the wall as I unlocked all of my locks. The door creaked open. Henry told me earlier that day how he would be spending the night at his girlfriends, so "don't wait up."

"I'm sorry, I never caught your name."

"Francis, mon amor" he stumbled to the couch and shut his eyes. I set my guitar by the door and hung my bag on the coat hanger.

"Francis." I repeated. I went into the pantry and got out a bottle of merlot. I poured myself a glass. "Francis" I whispered under my breath. It was a nice name. I approached the basket next to the couch and lay a blanket over his body. I swung his legs so that he lay straight across the cushions. _"Francis"_ I mouthed. I hesitantly placed my hand over his head. He had a head full of tousled blond hair—it was soft, yet evidently unwashed for a couple of days. He smelled of sweat—I could tell he was French.


	2. No Broken Hears (2)

The next morning, I woke up groggy, still wearing the bra I had on from last night. It was cold, my feet were cold; a waft of coffee and French breakfast foods permeated the walls. I went into the bathroom to wash my face—a map of imprints from my comforter was stamped on my cheek. I undressed myself and grabbed my robe to meet what was in the kitchen; Henry sat on the couch with a plate of crêpes and strawberries. The television was tuned to the _Today_ show. He looked at me, with a confused expression.

"I like your friend." he said, his mouth was full. Lo and behold, Francis, couch and rose man, stood in the kitchen making batches of crêpes and coffee.

"Ah, it is Nicole! Ma cherie, I wanted to sank you." Francis handed me a plate and moved a mug of coffee towards me. I nodded.

"Are you feeling alright?" I asked him.

"Oui, I am feeling okay." He smiled.

"I thought you would get your kidney stolen."

"You sink someone would steal mon kidney?"

"Yeah, it happens all the time." I sipped my coffee.

"Do you like cream?"

"Yeah, thanks," I set my plate down and sat at the high counter. "So, what are you doing in New York? Are you new?"

"For zhe time being. I am a diplomat, of sorts. I am 'ere for zhe United Nations, oui?" I nodded.

"It sounds like fun."

"Thank you for the rose." He gave me a gracious smile.

"What do you do for a living?" He took a break from the counter and leaned on the island.

"She doesn't have a real job." Henry interrupted.

"I just perform at bars," I said. "It pays well enough."

"I ee-magine." He kept giving me these genuine, kind smiles that made me feel warm inside. I took a bite of the crêpes, garnished with a strawberry.

"Mm! These are delicious!"

"I am glad." he brushed my hair behind my ear. I blushed, warmly, again.

"They're my favorite." I said.

"As zhey are mine." his voice was soft, and flowed nicely with the words he spoke. "I must go. I 'ave a meeting at nine." He looked at the clock, and grabbed his phone. He approached me, and gave me two wet kisses on my cheeks, with one of his hands grabbing one of my breasts and the other hand resting on the slope of my back. "Sank you, again." I looked at my hand to see his number still legible, and I debated on whether or not I should call him later. The door followed Francis on his way out.  
"I didn't know you had a boyfriend." Henry walked over to the dishwasher with his plate in his hand.

"I don't."

"Then who was that? Your cousin?" He gave me a side eye.

"No, I just helped him after he got way drunk. It's nothing."

"He seems like a nice guy. Very affectionate."

"You're not wrong," I tightened the belt on my robe.

I'll take a shower, then." I walked into my bedroom, threw my robe on my bed, and took a towel before walking into the bathroom. In the mirror, I was met a rats' nest of hair barely held together with hairspray, and a few trashy tattoos I've collected since I was eighteen. I opened the window only barely, to let in fresh air. I turned on the shower. For a moment, I sat on the toilet, peeing—I rubbed the earth I had tattooed on my ankle. The color was still vibrant with its two months.

"You takin' a shower, baby?" A neighbor from the building over opened his windows and called over to me. Steam was coming out of the window. Embarrassed that I forgot, I shut my blinds. When I got in the shower, the water burned my feet. I watched as it pooled spinning into the drain. I held my breath.

(A/N: I just had to mention that this chapter, without this note, has exactly 666 words. That is all)


	3. Kid Fears (3)

I walked out of the shower with a trail of water behind me. I couldn't help but think of Francis, who made me crêpes; I couldn't decide if he was genuine or not. He was affectionate, but also a European. I put these questions aside.

"Henry, can you get my phone?" There was no answer. "Henry?" I was met with silence.

 _Sorry I couldn't make it to the party last night. Lunch?_ I sent this to the host of the party from last night.

 _Sorry, can't_ _L_ _. Jack is sick from last night, LOL._

"Henry, did you get the mail?" I opened the door to his bedroom, when I was faced with Henry vigorously masturbating.

"Hey!" he yelled, I was startled.

"Sorry!" I stepped back, almost shielding my crotch from what I thought might attack me. "But did you get the mail?"

"No! Fuck off!"

"Fine, I'll get it."

I read the mail in the lobby; Henry got a T.J. Maxx pamphlet, and I, a suspicious letter with a handwritten address. It came from DC. I examined it and flapped it around, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

I opened the door, and Henry sat on the couch with an unhappy look on his face.

"Did I get anything?"

"Yeah." I gave him the T.J. Maxx ad.

"I've been waiting for one of these cards!" I took my letter and placed it on my bed. I was nervous to open it, obviously, I had fear in me, at the same time guilt. I peeked my head out of the door.

"Henry, can I ask you for advice?" He paused for a moment.

"No."

"Okay." I said. "Do you want to go to lunch with me?" He said nothing. I waited, expecting to get him to change his mind. "Where do you want to go?"

"Uh…" He considered my request. "Some Jew place, maybe?"

"Sure. Have anywhere in mind?" I leaned on the doorframe.

"Are you coming onto me?" He sat up from the couch. "What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing!" I bit the inside of my lip. "I just want to talk."

"Don't you have other friends?"

"Not that I can talk to, really." It was true.

"Are you autistic?" He asked. I laughed. "I'm serious."

"No," I said. "I just don't have many friends. It happens. Will you go to lunch with me?" Henry was frustrated, obviously wanting for me to move onto someone else; he obliged.

"What about Second Avenue Deli?"

"Sure!" I ran to grab my purse and get my things.

"In a few minutes." I sat at the kitchen island and was patient. Henry grabbed his jacket.

"Let's go"

The Deli was small, at street level as part of a larger office building.

"What were you thinking about getting?"

"Fuck, I don't know." Henry had been silent for most of the way.

"I might get spinach pirogues." I said. "How was last night with your girlfriend?"

"Melissa? Oh, she was fine." He said. "She just wanted to sleep though."

"You sound disappointed."

"Hell yeah, I'm disappointed!" He threw his hands up in the doorway.  
"That doesn't sound good" I overstated. Of course, it was no big deal. I just wanted to get Henry to like me.

"Yeah, I know. I think she's going to break up."

"What are you going to do?"

"Cheat on her."

"What?"

"Yeah. It's called artful manipulation"

"Henry, that's not good. Just be the good guy." Henry looked into space for a second.

"Nah, I think I'm just gonna cheat on her"

"Oh, uh," I wondered if I should meddle and warn Melissa. "Maybe she just wanted quality time with you!"

"Whatever." He took the collar of his shirt and rubbed his teeth with it. I cringed. We sat down at a booth.

"What would you like?" An older waitress with dry hair approached us with a notepad in her hands.

"I'll have a coffee." I said.

"Same here." He played with the paper menu attached to the table. "This guy came to school asking for you." I looked up, eyes like a deer in headlights.

"What?"

"Yeah, happened like a week ago." He ran his fingers through his hair. "I didn't say anything 'cause I thought it was dumb."

"Were you teaching?"

"No. I just got a call. You know that stupid ring?"

"That the phone makes?"

"Yeah, it's like 'BRAHNT, BRAH'," he gestured with his hands. "Anyway, I went down to the office and there was this guy eating a Big Mac. It was the most fucking awful thing I've ever seen. This dumbass with a bowl cut was like 'Where's Nicole' and I was like 'Fuck off.'" He smiled. "I saved you from your stalker, you know."

"Oh." I sipped on ice water.

"What, did you know him?"

"A little. What did he want?"

"Well, he said his name was Alfred, if that rings any bells," It did. "Also, I got yelled at, I hope you know."

"Thanks, Henry." I balled my fists and rested my chin like an easel. "I bet the kids think you're a hoot."

"You should see their faces when I'm there instead of their teacher. I'm kind of like a hero."

"Do you ever talk about me?" I asked, thinking of my old teachers who would talk about their personal lives with their students.

"Sometimes, I don't really know." He said.

"What did 'Alfred' say?"

"Allow me to recall" He looked in no particular direction like he was looking at his memories. "Well, I walked in, and the secretary told me there was someone looking for me. This guy was there on the couch, and he showed me this UN badge. He was kinda rude, 'cause he was eating when we were trying to have a conversation, and he called me 'dude' a lot. I hated it because it was looking at myself from the sixth grade."

"Harsh"

"Anyway, he asked me about you. I pretended not to know, cause, you know, you can't trust anyone with a badge," I nodded, "He said something about needing you again."

"Oh my god."

"Clingy, right?" I nodded, not saying anything. The waitress brought out our coffees. I nodded in thanks.

"Uh Henry," I peeled the lid off of the cream and poured it into my coffee. "Did I ever tell you about how I used to go undercover for the CIA?" Henry's mouth hung open in deliberate surprise.

"No shit!"

"Totally, it was rad," I said. "You believe me?"

"I mean, I want to. Are you lying?"

"No," I said. "But I just think that might be why some guy came to ask you questions. I'm pretty sure I knew him."

"There's no way that guy has government job." He sat back, crossing his arms. " _Now_ I think you're lying." I shook my head. "Why did he want you, anyway?"

"I totally left when I wasn't supposed to." I giggled. "It's all kinda funny, now, cause it's almost like a funny story, but it was also kinda rough." Henry leaned in.

"You got any _'Nam_ stories?" I laughed.

"Not really. It was all spy stuff. I try to lead a fulfilling life."

"Yeah, me too. Last night I got a tattoo after Melissa fell asleep, just to get a tattoo."

"Really?"

"Yeah, it's just a dumb fake tribal tattoo. Now I can say I'm tatted"


	4. It Was Really Nothing (4)

I went home to open the letter with the handwritten address. Sometimes, if you look closely, you can see that it's faked and it's actually stamped on a cellular bill. This one had the imprints of a ballpoint pen. I tore the top with an active hive in my lungs, it felt like. The letter read as follows:

 _Dear Nicole,_

 _Nikki! Nik! I want to write to you as your bro-migo. Dude, my boss found you. Did you know that 'boss' in Spanish is 'jefe?' I'm learning so many new words from the Mexicans! Dude, I regret having you leave like this. I miss you. I miss you and what you did for me. You were one of the awesomest people I've ever met!_

 _All of my friends are in Manhattan the next couple weeks. The boss wants you back with me. IMO, we had a pretty fun time together. I totally hope you feel the same way. We can talk about it more if you want._

 _Call me. My number is (xxx)-xxx-xxxx._

 _Signed,_

 _Al_

The letter itself was not so shocking as was receiving it. It gave me an uncomfortable feeling to know they could have found me so easily; it wasn't realistic at the time that they would come look for me. I, like many others, was replaceable—apparently not quite; I folded the letter and put it on my dresser.

Remembrance of these earlier days brought that Francis was no stranger; I had seen his face once or twice when working with Alfred. I chose to palliate those memories with new ones. By now, it was a blur. I had not cared for the past. I learned to live in the present—I remember why I left in the first place. I spent most of my days in government buildings, talking to people I forgot. I never went outside, saw the sun, but I knew that I needed to. I knew I wouldn't be young forever; I wanted to take advantage of it while I had the chance.

I knew who the 'Allied Forces' were. I knew about Alfred, and I knew about who he was, but I never looked into it too much. _I AM America._ It made sense on a metaphysical level; I let it go.

I curled the corner of the paper and considered for a moment what it would be like to return to my old job. I decided to call the number— 'star 67,' of course. Just to clear things up. The phone rang for some time.

"Alfred?"

"Uh, Nikki?"

"Wait, how did you know it was me?"

"Your voice is really obvious. Anyway, what's up?"

"Uh," I choked up. "I just wanted to know…"

"Oh my god, are you crying?" He laughed. As soon as he said that, my tears ran right back up to my eyes like a teenage boner at the sight of his grandmother.

"Wait, _no,_ what the hell?" I cleared my throat. "I just wanted to know what was up. You, know, I got your letter and stuff."

"Yeah, man, I figured."

"Umm,"

"Anyway, you would just follow me around, I guess, and be an advisor. Whatever."

"That's a little vague." I said, feeling skeptical. It almost didn't sound like Alfred—he sounded _somber_.

"Just come meet me tomorrow at the United Nations International Headquarters. Do you know where that is?"

"I mean, I've lived here for however long, so…"

"Okay. Just come as a visitor and meet me near the gift shop. Do you know where that is?"

"I think I'll figure it out, Al."

"Sounds cool! I'll meet you tomorrow. Be there, or be _square,_ " he said, "at nine o'clock."

"Alright, I gotta go."

"See ya, dude!" I hung up after hearing a click. I was very concerned; I knew it was taboo just to _leave_ a job like that. I felt in my heart that that was what I needed to do; It was a whole other ordeal now that they were coming back to find me.

I went in my closet to dig out some "professional" clothes that I bought a while ago. What I bought was inspired by one of those working-mom magazines that inspire you to try harder.


	5. What Difference Does It Make? (5)

Francis, the man he was, went back to his hotel room to change before going to work. He came twenty minutes late to his meeting and didn't regret a minute of standing in front of his closet trying to decide what to wear. It, being his three-hour-long meeting, was boring and it made him sick.

"I saw a rat on the subway, today." Arthur shuddered when poking at his food in the cafeteria. All of it was white, where they ate, a large room with ultra-modern interior design. He cursed whoever they paid, who would make such a mess. All of the countries were incredibly depressed and felt ultimately put upon by being forced to partake in team-building activities by the United Nations.

"I miss home…" Francis frowned into his sad chicken soup.

"Of course you would, you narcissistic _twat_ " Francis slapped away his tea, the top breaking open and spilling all over the floor. They broke into a fistfight.

"I hope they both die." Yao pulled in his chair and whispered to Alfred. They lasted not a minute until the security details pulled either party away from each other.

"Aw, man." Alfred slumped in his seat at the table. "It was just getting good!" It was the most exciting thing that had happened all day. Francis and Arthur brushed themselves off and sat back in their seats after security let them go.

"Hello, everyone" Ivan approached the table with a bowl of borscht on a tray. He seemed to be the most indifferent. Francis sat up and puffed out his chest.

"I met someone last night." He stirred his coffee.

"Dude, who?" Alfred craned his neck.

"I shall not say." It was awfully petty, knowing he did not sleep with the girl, mentioning it only to get a reaction. He was only vague to tell the truth.

"Did you get it on, or _what_ , my man?" Alfred banged his fists on the table. "Give me the _deets_!"

"I am excited to know!" Ivan sat up, still spooning his soup.

"Uhh," Francis stalled. _He had been caught._ "It was fun, and zhat is it."

"Was it sex?" Arthur leaned in far enough to be uncomfortable.

" _I said I would not say_." He blushed. "Whatever happened last night, _let us just say I made her crêpes that morning,_ oui?" He winked at Arthur and Alfred, only to nonchalantly take a sip of his coffee. "Ow, I burned my tongue! I think, zhat I am in _love!_ " Francis clasped his hands together. He wasn't lying about the girl, only the allusion to sex, and he wasn't saying this to get a reaction, necessarily. Of course, he was infatuated with her, as he was with almost everyone he knew—however, he was _not_ in love with her, and there was something inside of him that knew that. He chose to ignore it.

"How can you be in love with someone you just met?" Arthur turned to face him, his eyebrows almost shielding his eyes.

"Because she is _amazing_ and very cool."

"What's her name, then?" Yao pressed his elbows onto the table, genuinely asking.

 _"_ _Nicole"_ There was a lapse in the conversation.

"Anyway," Alfred was not the type to allow a lapse in the conversation. He wanted primarily to talk about _his_ news. "I sent a letter the other day to a chick who used to work for me. She should be calling me, any day now."

"Oh really, who is it?" Arthur chewed his microwaved peas.

"Her name is Nicole, and she lives here, in Manhattan." He said. "Probably no correlation, though, dude" He playfully punched Francis' shoulder.

"I cannot wait to leave zhis 'orrible place"

"She was _so_ cool. I bet you guys have seen her before. She was like, my assistant!" Alfred rambled on. "This one time, me and her went down this tunnel in Ohio that led to hell, to make negotiations with aliens. No biggie." Kiku, from the next table over, gave him a side-eye. "And then another time…" Now, it wasn't an exaggeration to suggest that Alfred was exaggerating. There came a point when people stopped listening, and it was time to resume activities.

It was a few hours later when Alfred got a call in the classy conference hall.

"Sir?" Alfred stood up, and faced a tall man with sunglasses and a walkie-talkie. He had a deep, southern drawl. The cart pulled beside him carried a box with an iPhone USB cord. "We're gonna have to record that call" The man lead him into a dark room with desktops on desks, and a handful of employees making calls and typing. "The Wi-Fi is the best in here. Hook it up." Alfred answered the phone.

"Uh, Nikki?"


End file.
